


Why did she have to Leave?

by whitetiger91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Death, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Funeral, Gen, Grandmother-Grandson Relationship, Grandmothers, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hurt, Next Generation, Next-Gen, Weasleys, bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitetiger91/pseuds/whitetiger91
Summary: James Sirius Potter did not want to be there—it was all her fault that he was, and he'd be sure not to give her the satisfaction of mourning at the funeral.





	Why did she have to Leave?

It was a beautiful day really; the sun shone brilliantly, having found its freedom from the clouds that held it captive for so long, and **its** hot rays beat down on the large crowd gathering in the park. In the surrounding trees, birds could be heard chirping merrily as they went about their daily business. A slight breeze swept through the area, tempting the park's occupants to follow it to a cooler location.

James sat on a stark white plastic chair, wriggling around uncomfortably. He did not want to be there at all; it was too hot and he was sick of all the strange witches and wizards trying to console him. He didn't care about the woman's death, let alone wish to 'pay his respects' to her. It was her fault that he was there, trying in vain to loosen the collar of the pristine shirt his mother had forced him to wear.

She had promised him that she would always be there for him. They were supposed to go to Vivienne Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in a few days' time to celebrate his getting into Hogwarts. He had been looking forward to the outing, hoping that afterwards, she would take him to Ollivander and Sons for his wand. But no, she had broken her promise; they wouldn't be going to the wand shop, and he wouldn't be able to order his favourite serving of raspberry and pineapple sorbet.

Next to him, Rose sniffled loudly, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief Grandma Molly had given her. He glared at her, wondering why on earth she would be crying—the witch she was sobbing over had also promised to take her to see the famous Celestina Warbeck give a performance in Diagon Alley in a month's time—they wouldn't be doing that now, and he was sure Rose was beyond disappointed.

In fact, he wasn't sure why anyone here was crying. Looking around at the tear-stained faces, he glared at anyone who dared turn a sympathetic smile his way. They were all stupid to cry. The deceased had abandoned them all—she was the furthest thing from a hero.

He scowled as his mother came to comfort him; she too was crying, allowing the glistening tears to fall freely down her face. It just wasn't right. He swatted her hand away as she tried to straighten his robes and tie. Her lips trembling, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and rubbed his back soothingly, murmuring that "everything was going to be alright." Like hell it was.

He crossed his arms huffily as his mother sat down next to his father. He watched as she buried her head into his shoulder, her body shaking with tears. Did the lady not realise what she had done to his mother? She was crying and it was all her stupid, selfish fault.

Classical music began to play; it's soft, soothing sounds drifting throughout the crowd as they stood as one. James refused to stand- why should he? He was already uncomfortable enough sitting there in the stifling heat. He let out another huff as Albus yanked on his elbow, trying to get him to stand up. He shot a look of annoyance at his younger brother, crossing his legs and digging his feet into the grass in defiance. The effect was only ruined as a blue flower petal fell into his mouth and he had to spit it out indignantly.

Really? They even went to the trouble of having her favourite flower, hydrangeas, fall from the sky? That was a ridiculous touch to the ceremony, and she certainly did not deserve it.

He felt a slight tug on his arm as everyone sat down and Kingsley Shacklebolt began the proceedings. Preparing to yell at Albus, he was a little confused when he saw that it was Lily holding him. Her eyes were also swimming with tears, and with one thumb in her mouth, she nestled her head into the crook of his arm. Sighing, but not willing to turn his favourite-and only-sister away, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

Still, James rolled his eyes as Kingsley began talking about the brave deeds that the departed had done throughout her life, and especially the amazing feats she had accomplished during the Battle of Hogwarts. Who cared what she did then? She was certainly no hero now. In his mind, a hero never let anyone down; they were selfless and determined, and never gave up on anyone, let alone themselves. If she was so brave, why did she not stay and fight? Didn't she care that she would leave him? Didn't she understand that muggle medicines could have easily cured her?

Around him, people nodded their heads as they agreed with the man speaking. Tear stains made uneven tracks down their faces, particularly the witches whose faces were coated in thick layers of foundation. He smirked, refusing to allow any tears of his own to appear on his face, as he watched the eldest Malfoy woman dab away the black lines of mascara that had leaked upon her porcelain skin. What was she doing here anyway? His father couldn't stand the family, save for polite conversation when necessary. She had stolen what precious little time the now-deceased woman had left.

His uncle Percy was now at the altar, speaking about how wonderful she was to her family; evidently the public part of the ceremony had finished, for the Aurors that had been aligned at the sides of the stage, decked out in their official Ministry robes of purple and black armbands, had taken their seats. As Percy droned on about how kind, selfless and gentle the woman was, James stuck his fingers in his ears. No way would he listen to that rubbish. It was all lies- if she was so selfless and gentle, then why wasn't she here now, giving him the warm hugs she did whenever they were together? If she was so kind, then why wasn't she there to keep him safe?

James felt his eyes prickle as his uncle George took to the stage. Trying not to hear what he was saying, he furiously wiped at his eyes, blinking rapidly to stop the hot tears from falling. He convinced himself that they were only angry tears—why wouldn't they be anyway? He was suffering in his black robe under the sun, all because of her.

The woman's picture glinted in the sunlight from its position on the polished wooden coffin, the bright glare of the glass blinding his eyes for a moment. Shielding his eyes and grumbling, he tried to forget the image that had entered his mind from it. It was a lovely photograph really, showing a radiant woman who had aged gracefully. She seemed to mock him as she smiled, waving her hands at a crowd drenched in misery.

The image was nowhere near as horrible as what she had actually looked like when he had last seen her. In the picture, the witch had fiery red hair and a full face but once she fell ill, her hair greyed and the muscle in her face melted away, leaving behind a frail skeleton.

He closed his lips tightly, trying to ease their unnecessary trembling. His father and mother had now taken to the stage, standing behind his Uncle Bill as he stammered through a speech. Neither of his parents seemed to be able to get their words out, so they simply stood there, clutching each other and nodding along to his uncle's sickly sweet words.

James focused his gaze on his uncle's hair, trying to ignore the words spouted about how much the woman had loved her husband and children. Bill's long ginger ponytail that he had always admired was now gone; his hair was cut to sit just below his ears, making him look less like a rebel and more of a gentleman. His dragon claw earring had also been removed, leaving only a gaping hole as evidence that it was ever there. Of course, Bill would change everything about himself just for her, yet she wasn't even there to see it. Bullocks she loved them so much.

As Charlie took Bill's place on the stage, James focused on his fingernails. They were usually dirty from all his adventures in the forest, many of which he had when she would take him to look for berries and Bowtruckle eggs. Looking at them now, they seemed oddly white, and he grumbled, realising that they would probably remain that way for a long time to come. He hadn't dared set foot in any forest since she had taken to her bed that fateful afternoon, and he would not give her the satisfaction of returning to their favourite places in memory of their time together.

"...As Victoire was Molly's darling princess, James was her dear little troublemaker."

At the mention of his name, his head snapped up. In his effort to distance himself from today's events, Charlie's speech had gone unheard but it didn't take long for James to realize that his uncle was summarising the woman's thoughts on each of her grandchildren. Once again, he tried to drown out the speaker, instead focusing on a flower petal that had landed at the foot of his chair.

Lily cradled closer to her big brother, weakly smiling up at him and whispering, "That's you."

"Molly enjoyed spending time with her mischievous grandson, taking walks out in the sunshine and showing him how to bake. She once confessed that he reminded her of the late Fred—our dear brother whom she now lies with—in all his cheekiness and curiosity…"

As the words penetrated his ears, he felt his stomach churn. How dare she address him in such a way when she had so willingly left him? She should be saying that to his face… she should…. She…

He felt Lily encircle her arms around him. She leant up on her toes, and though she couldn't quite manage to reach his cheek, she placed a light kiss on his jawline. His lips quivered, and he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes again. His teeth clenched tightly upon his tongue and, taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on the pain rather than the lump that was now stuck in his throat.

Eventually, music began to play again and another bout of blue flowers rained down upon the guests, emerging from the tips of various wands. The crowd stood as one, and as Lily moved, he allowed himself to be dragged up with her.

One by one, people gave a slight bow as they stepped out of their row of chairs, donning their hats and strolling from the enclosed area. Eventually, the majority of the crowd dispersed, and he was left to wait for his mother as she spoke to Kingsley.

"James, dear, I am going to get Fleur to take Albus and Lily to The Burrow with Hugo and the others. I understand that you may not be ready, but would you like to come with us to say a final goodbye—James?"

He couldn't speak. He tried to breathe through his nose, but his eyes continued to shimmer until a large droplet fell upon his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, only to have more tears seep through his thick eyelashes uncontrollably.

Sensing his anguish, his mother gathered him into her arms in a tight embrace, hushing him as she brushed his dark hair. The wretched tears continued to fall, fat and wet, and he felt them wash away his anger as they soaked his cheeks.

_Why did she have to leave him?_

**Author's Note:**

> I should note that James is eleven years old, and Lily is around four or five. I know this isn't quite right according to the Potter Wiki, but in my headcannon I wanted her to be young in this scene (hence the sucking of her thumb- I dunno, it was cute at the time lol.) Also, I completely ignored the death date of a beloved character because I thought she would be a hero he would most feel sad about. Don't worry… I'll keep her alive in future stories, consider this a nightmare he has if you have to.
> 
> Also, I suck at being the voice of a male, let alone an eleven year old, so I hope it doesn't sound too unrealistic. I sort of based this on my own experiences at a loved one's funeral, and as such, I may have lost some of the emotion or gone overboard as I wrote because I was thinking of different memories.


End file.
